Regression
by Cu Chulainn 1945
Summary: Dr. Rush is in the neural interface chair. Brain waves active, but he's unconscious. Again.
1. Prologue

For no reason at all, so far as Young could tell, Rush was in the neural interface.

Again.

A silent group of five or so onlookers milled about the room – Eli was glued to the console, Greer had his gun just in case, and TJ was staring straight ahead at Rush's unconscious form, First Aid kit poised and ready.

Young was just pissed.

"Seriously," he said. "The next time this happens, we're pulling the plug."

Those who could afford to look up gave him disbelieving glares.

"I mean it! He's wasting resources!"

Or something. It didn't really matter what the details were when he could complain about Rush.

"Well," said Eli, "I think I got this figured out. His brain waves are still responsive, so he hasn't uploaded his consciousness again. But –"

Suddenly, Destiny pitched and the lights overhead flickered. Everyone grabbed onto the nearest console/wall/Greer and held on for dear life.

A bright flash of light blinded them. Then –

The sunspots faded, and Rush was gone.

"TJ," said Young softly, staring at what had taken the scientist's place, "what the hell?"

"I … I don't know, sir."

Blinking up at them was a thin, long-nosed, six-year-old boy.


	2. Bad Words

The boy's eyes were wide and his brow was furrowed – he stared up at them like he expected an explanation, and now.

"Uhh," Young stalled. "Hi there. What's your name?"

The boy pursed his lips.

"Please tell me that's not Rush," Greer whispered from behind the colonel.

"I don't know," Eli whispered back. "He's got the scowl down _pat_. And his DNA readings haven't changed. He's, uh – significantly more scared than Rush was, if I'm reading this right."

"Where am I?" the boy asked.

Colonel Young and TJ shared a look.

"Spaceship," Greer shrugged, earning a few glares.

"_Spaceship_?" The boy was gaping at them in something suspiciously similar to awe. "How'd I get here?"

As a group, they shrugged. For a moment, the boy seemed ready to argue or demand an answer. Then he shrugged and gave a bright, "OK."

Colonel Young and TJ shared another look.

"What's your name?" said Young again. The boy brought his knees up to his chest, looking around the dark room that was probably really cool from a kindergartner's point of view.

"Nick," he said absently, poking at the straps on the neural interface chair – they were too big now, and his hands had slipped out.

"Nick what?"

This time, the answer was only given after a long hesitation, with a wary glance toward the people in the room.

"Rush," Nick admitted. He curled in on himself a little.

Young could feel TJ trying for another look. He refused to meet her eyes.

"OK," he said calmly. "Uh, nice. Nice name."

"What's with these bolts?" asked Nick. He reached up and wrapped tiny fingers around them, starting to pull. Frantically, Eli hit the disengage button and the bolts slid away. Nick seemed unperturbed.

"OK," said Young again, taking a deep breath. "OK. TJ, why don't you, uh –"

Catching his drift, she hurried forward and tried to help young Nicholas off the chair. He stared at her like she was crazy and got down on his own, gazing happily at the deck plating beneath his feet.

"Come with me," TJ said soothingly. "We're gonna check you out, OK? See if you're hurt."

"I'm not hurt," Nick said simply. He looked around again. "Can I asplore the spaceship? It looks _awesome_."

Young fiercely fought back against a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eli turn on a Kino and train it on Destiny's newest, smallest member.

"Later," TJ promised, taking his hand. "Come on."

* * *

Little Rush, it happened, was very much like older Rush in many ways. He was annoyingly perceptive. He was hyperactive and energetic beyond belief, though his hyperactivity generally ranged more toward playing Tag for hours, rather than fixing the ship without sleep. He was easily excited.

But he was also very _different_ from the Rush they knew.

"Is he a soldier?" Nick asked TJ in a hushed voice, pointing toward Young. The colonel kept the amusement on his face to a minimum and pretended he hadn't heard.

"Ask him yourself," TJ told the boy, also sounding amused. Nick looked back and forth between them.

"What's his name?"

"Young."

Nick raised his voice a little. "Mr. Young?"

Barely keeping back a grin, Young turned to him. "Yes?"

"Are you a soldier?"

Young nodded and started to explain, but all he got out was "I'm a colonel" before Nick had jumped off the examination table and was tugging at his uniform in wonder.

"Wow!" he gasped, rubbing little fingers all over the birds on Young's shoulder. "Do you kill people?"

"Nick," TJ scolded.

"What?"

"I don't make a habit of it," Young replied. Nick looked at him doubtfully.

"Well, do you _try _to kill people?"

And if _that _wasn't an uncomfortable question …

"If I was a soldier," Nick went on, "I'd have lots of guns for when the big lads fight. Do _you _have guns?"

Young considered his options – he didn't think it was a good idea to show a six-year-old Rush his pistol.

"All soldiers here have guns," TJ answered for him. "And Nick, I wasn't done with the check-up. I need to take your heartbeat."

She may have expected more of a fight from the notoriously anti-medicine scientist, but Nick took one look at her stethoscope and practically snatched it from her hands.

"Can I listen?" he asked, completely ignoring her attempts to get it from him. He placed one earbud in his ear and held the curved portion to his mouth.

"Don't do that!" Young and TJ said at once.

Nick's refusal to obey orders _hadn't_ changed. "Bleeeh," he moaned into it, then flinched and held his ears. "Aw, fuck!" he cried, curling up and clutching his head. "Shite, that hurts!"

"NICK!"

He looked at them, startled and a little red-eyed from his self-torture. "What?" he asked, truly baffled. TJ crossed her arms.

"Colonel," she said sternly, "tell him not to use those words."

"What?" Young gaped at her. "Why me?"

"What words?" said Nick. TJ glared at Young until he sighed and acquiesced. Never mind the weirdness of telling _Rush_ not to swear.

"Nick," he started, "those are _bad words_. We don't say them."

"Don't say what?" the boy asked again.

"Fuck. And shite."

"EVERETT!"

"Well, he'd didn't know!"

"So say 'the _f _word' and 'the _s_ word', don't just blurt them out!"

Nick stared at them like they'd gone insane and placed the stethoscope against his stomach.

"Cool," he laughed. A bit deflated, Young and TJ watched him. This time, he placed it up against the examination table. "_Cool_!"

"You deal with him," Young said.


	3. The Science Team

Nick was ticklish, as they discovered when TJ finally managed to get the stethoscope under his too-big, white T-shirt.

This was very, very hard to not exploit.

"I'm gonna getcha," Greer growled, angling his body so Eli's hovering Kino could record. He wiggled his fingers, getting closer and closer to the already-pinned little boy. "I'm gonna getcha."

His fingertips brushed against Nick's stomach and the boy let out a howl of laughter. His left leg soared up and his foot connected hard with Greer's jaw, sending the man sprawling.

Eli tried and failed to stifle his own laughter.

"Oh, man," he wheezed. "Oh, that was awesome. You just got pwned, dude. And he's, like, four."

"I'm _six_!" Nick said, jumping to his feet and kicking Greer again in the side. The marine's hand shot out, grabbing Nick by the ankle. In the next moment, Greer was standing and Nick was dangling upside down, his face red from a mixture of giggles and blood rushing to his head.

"OK," said Eli, unable to choose between watching the Kino remote and what was going on before him. "Um, maybe we're getting a little too rough."

Nick head-butted Greer in the balls.

Greer sat on him.

Eli frowned. "Or not," he said.

"Greer," called Young, who had hitherto just been observing. "It's a tickle fight, not Battle Royale. Let him go."

Greer rolled off Nick, muttering something that sounded like an affectionate, "little fucker."

"Big fucker," Nick retorted.

"NICK!"

"Sorry!"

Frowning, Young turned back to his paperwork. He had read maybe a paragraph when he felt a presence at his elbow.

"What are ye doing?" Nick asked. Young raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

"Work."

"Nuh-uh."

"_Yes_," said Young through gritted teeth. "_Yes-_huh."

"That's not work," Nick argued – admittedly, a lot more good-naturedly than his older self had. "You're just reading."

"Well," said Young, "sometimes that's what very important people do."

"My dad doesn't read for work."

"Is your dad a very important person?"

Nick seemed to seriously consider the question. Young gaped at him.

"No," the boy said finally. "But he is to me."

And that totally didn't touch Young's heart. Not at all.

For real.

"But I guess I won't be seeing him anymore," Nick went on, seeming complacent enough with that idea. "Eli says we can't get back to Earth."

Young shot Eli a glare.

"So I should probably pick out new parents," said Nick brightly. He looked around the room. "Not Eli."

"Oh, thanks!" Eli called. Nick turned his head to look at Greer.

"Not Greer."

Greer flipped him off.

It was a long moment before Young realized that Nick had turned again and was looking at him thoughtfully. His heart stuttered.

"Let's go meet the science team," he said quickly, before Nick could open his mouth. The boy's face lit up like the stars.

"_Science _team? COOL!"

* * *

"This is Lisa Park," Young started, pointing to the petite, smiling woman. She put her hands on her knees and got right in Rush's face.

"I bet you want to learn how to fly the ship," she said. Nick's eyes went wide and his head bobbed rapidly.

"You can teach me?"

"Sure!"

Young gave Park a look he hoped she interpreted as 'but not really or I'll skin you.' He thought she got the message.

"And this is Brody," he said, gesturing at the wryly-grinning man.

"Hi, Brody!" Nick called.

"Hey, little man."

"What's Brody do?" asked Nick. The engineer saved Young from answering.

"I fix things," he said flippantly with a nonchalant shrug clearly meant to convince Nick this was a big deal. "I'm the reason the ship stays up."

Nick looked star-struck. "Awesome," he whispered. Young smiled and turned him to face the third member of the science team.

"And this is Volker."

Mouth tight and eyes shuttered, Nick hid behind Young's leg. Volker's happy face fell.

"What is it about me he hates so much?" he lamented, throwing up his arms. Completely unconcerned, Park and Brody shrugged.

As subtly as he could, Young tried to inch Nick away from Volker.

"And here are the consoles," he said, lifting the boy up so he could see. Nick stared at the screens like a six-year-old Everett had stared at G.I. Joes.

"Wow," he breathed.

At the age of six, Nicholas Rush had found his calling.


	4. Interrogation

Young left Nick in the trustworthy (?) hands of the science team and returned an hour later for their usual report, only to find that literally no work had been done. Brody was sitting with his leg up on the console, nursing a nasty bruise. Volker was sulking. Park and Nick were snugged together at another console as Park told him what things meant and which buttons to push.

"Can he fly the spaceship yet?" Young asked.

"You gotta go through training first," Nick said absently. He pointed to something on the console and addressed his next question to Park. "What's that one?"

"That's 'z'. Makes a _zzz_ sound."

Confused, Young walked up behind them and saw they weren't staring at the console at all. They were staring at a piece of paper with the alphabet on it in Park's bubbly handwriting.

"He can't read," Lisa explained without prompt.

"But he's six," said Young. "I could read when I was six."

He thought, but didn't add, _And I'm a lot dumber than Nicholas Rush_.

"And the colonel's much dumber than Nick Rush," Eli piped up. Young sent him a glare.

"Yes, well," said Park, "Nick also tells me he doesn't attend _school_."

Young raised his eyebrows and looked at the boy.

"What?" said Nick defensively. "I don't like the bus. The big lads ride the bus. And I never went to school with Mum and Da."

"Can't you walk?"

Nick let out a derisive laugh that was eerily similar to his elder self.

"I'm _six_," he said, "and I live in Glasgow. East Side."

"East Saa-eeed!" Eli called. The room in general gave him a disapproving look. Flushing, he turned back to his console.

"What's wrong with the East side of Glasgow?" Young asked.

"Big lads," said Nick.

It was very hard not to say "who the hell are the big lads?"

"Big lads," Young repeated. "You mean big kids?"

Nick nodded. Slowly, Young came to remember what else the six-year-old had said.

"What do you mean, you never went to school with Mum and Da?" he asked. Nick only shrugged. Young narrowed his eyes, ready to go full-out interrogation mode on the boy when his radio blared to life.

"Colonel Young, come in," said Camille's voice. Young pressed down the transmitter.

"Wray, this is Young. What is it?"

"I need to talk to Dr. Rush."

His eyes flickered to the other side of the room. "You mean Nick."

Pause.

"Yes. Nick. Can you bring him down?"

Young glanced at the boy, whose eyes were plastered to the console. He seemed much more content cuddling with Park than talking to Camille.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, and let his thumb slip off the button. "Nick," he called. Briefly, the boy looked up. "You want to meet some more people?"

For a long moment, Nick didn't move. Then he jumped off Park's lap and bounded over, hesitating a little before taking Young's hand. The colonel gaped down at him, then stared around the room in shock. Park beamed, Volker sulked, and Eli gave him a grin.

Brody was still nursing his bruise.

"Well," said Young awkwardly, "come on."

* * *

He didn't like it.

Colonel Young stood across the room from the desk where Camille and Nick were sitting. His arms were crossed and his face was set in a scowl.

He. Did. Not. Like. It.

"Nick," said Camille, trying to sound gentle but coming off more as patronizing, "I really need you to tell me about your dad. OK? Did he ever hurt you?"

Nick stared at the table, tracing patterns on it with his finger and refusing to meet her gaze. Intellectually, Young knew that Camille was right – they should try to find out as much as they can, try to learn more about the difficult man. It would make him easier to deal with as a child and as the scientist they knew.

He still didn't like it.

"Did your mother hurt you?" Camille tried again. Exasperated and angry, Young couldn't hold himself back from speaking.

"Maybe he's not abused," he snapped. "Maybe _that's_ why he's so upset. You're insulting his parents."

Camille didn't even look his way.

"Tell me about your parents," she suggested. "What do they do for a living? Where do they work?"

Not looking up, Nick shrugged.

"Do they ever hurt you?"

Eyes on the table, he shook his head and shrugged at the same time.

"Nick," said Camille softly, grabbing his hand and making him flinch, "you can tell me, OK? I won't make fun."

Young was forced into action when Nick's mouth wobbled and he started to cry.

"All right!" he said loudly, swooping in and grabbing the kid. "I think we're done here."

He suspected that Camille was formulating an argument – probably something to do with 'he's not crying, he's just tearing up' – but frankly, he was having none of that.

"You OK?" he said when he'd stormed out properly. He set Nick on the ground but didn't quite let go.

"Uh-huh," Nick mumbled.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

He totally wasn't worried about the kid.

At all.


	5. Mama Young

Young, the crew came to realize over the span of one day, was a jealous and protective mother.

Greer found this out when he found Nick waiting outside Young's quarters for the colonel to fetch some paperwork. Always one to mess with Rush, Greer scooped the boy up and perched him on his shoulder, running down the hall.

Nick was screaming with laughter, Greer's hand resting on his legs to make sure he didn't fall. The sergeant turned, dipped, and sprang back up again, sprinting back the way they came.

They were in the process of doing this for a third time when the door to the colonel's quarters slid open with a hiss.

"Sergeant!" he barked. Greer screeched to a stop, nearly vaulting Nick off his shoulders.

"Yes, sir?" he said.

"Put. Him. Down."

Very carefully, Greer lowered Nick to the floor. The boy Charley-horsed him and ran over to Young, hiding behind him with a huge smile on his face.

"What?" said Greer, noticing Young's thunderous expression. "We're having fun!"

"He could have _fallen_. He could have _bumped his head_."

"Um –"

"Go."

Colonel Young's arm swung out in a wide gesture, pointing down the hallway. Greer's eyes widened.

"Sir?"

"Go."

It was like a walk of shame.

* * *

Chloe found out during a game of tag. Her eyes were, of course, on the impossibly fast little imp racing ahead of her in the halls. She ran into someone once, nearly knocking them over, and kept running.

Nick led her in a circle. On the return, she ran into the blurry someone once more, and this time, they stopped her from getting away.

"Chloe," said a growly, familiar voice. She turned to look at Colonel Young.

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

"What are you doing?"

She gestured down the halls. "Playing tag."

"With Nick?"

"Who else?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you realize," he said slowly, stepping a little closer, "how full of sharp edges this ship is?"

She stared at him.

"How many corridors here are dangerous? How many different rooms he could open just to be sucked out into space?"

His voice was steadily rising, and Chloe could see a fearful-looking Nick poking his head around the corner to watch them, so she decided to cut in.

"It's safe, Colonel," she assured him. "We warned him about the closed-off sections. He promised not to open any doors."

"Like that would really stop Rush – because he promised."

"AND," Chloe continued, "TJ has prepared a very extensive First Aid kit just for him. It covers all boo-boos, big and small."

He seemed to suspect she was mocking him.

"Come on, Nick," he called. "No more tag."

With a scowl, the boy shuffled over to him. "OK."

Colonel Young gave Chloe one last warning look and walked off, hand-in-hand with his new son.

* * *

Park found out when she was giving Nick his second reading lesson of the day. It was a Young-sanctioned activity, one with little risk of boo-boos. The problem was, it contained a significantly higher risk of bonding than tag.

"Does he have to sit on your lap?" Young complained. Park looked up at him in surprise, subconsciously pulling Nick closer.

"He likes it," she said. Young's face was blank.

"I just don't think Dr. Rush would be happy to know he was cuddled by you as a small child."

"What, and he'd be happy to know you held his hand?" Eli pointed out. Young sent him a very nasty glare. Eli held up his hands in surrender.

"He likes being cuddled," Park said again, correcting Nick when his under-the-breath recitation of the alphabet went wrong. "He's touch-starved."

"There is _no such thing_ as Nick being _touch_-starved."

"Oh, really?"

"Really. He holds my hand too much."

"You want a gold prize?" Eli muttered.

Utter, angry silence.

"Sorry," Eli said.

* * *

The next person to suffer Young's jealousy was TJ, who was in the process of mending some old fatigues to make clothes for the little boy. Young was watching them carefully, his blank expression melting a little into disapproval every time TJ tried to take Nick's measurements.

"He doesn't like when you do that," Young said finally with a pointed glance at TJ's measuring twine. She stared at him, then looked back at Nick for confirmation, pulling the twine away from his bare stomach.

Blushing a little, he nodded.

"Sorry," TJ said, searching her mind for other options. "Um, it's only for a little bit, if that makes it better."

Nick seemed comforted by that. Young was not.

"I'd rather we just not do it," he said firmly. TJ's hands went slack.

"OK," she said, drawing out the vowels, "well, I think Nick might also be uncomfortable running around in nothing but Rush's shirt. Hm?"

Young scowled.

"We'll just guess on the sizes," he decided. TJ's mouth thinned into a straight line as he examined the fatigues. "He's going to grow, right? If we can't change him back? So who cares if they're a little too –"

"Colonel."

His head turned toward her. TJ gave him a significant look.

"What?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't."

A long, long pause.

"Everett," TJ said, voice even and calm, "Nick and I are going to go bond together, OK? Without you."

He tried to hide it, but he definitely looked unhappy.

"Actually," he started, "it's getting close to Nick's bedtime –"

"Nope."

He stared at her. TJ stared back. Nick stared between them, his head moving rapidly.

"Nope?" Young repeated. TJ nodded. "You can't just –"

"I can." She rose to her feet, arms crossed. She was in Confrontation Mode. "Colonel Young, I'm speaking on the behalf of everyone on Destiny who's interacted with Nick. All eight of them."

He had the gall to look confused. "What –"

"Listen!" she cut in. "Colonel, in the space of seven hours, you have become what's generally called … a mother hen."

"I have not."

"You have!" She crossed the room and snagged a Kino, flipping through it 'till she found the right footage. She showed him videos of himself confronting Greer and Park. "You're fussy. You're disagreeable. You're bossy and pissy and an absolute bitch to anyone who dares touch your kid."

"He's not my –"

"Colonel, you're holding hands with him right now."

Startled, Young looked down and blinked at the small fingers enclosed in his own. He blinked again. "Huh."

"Please," said TJ, putting on her best pleading face. "Just let the rest of us play with him, too? Before Camille succeeds in changing him back?"

There was a wonderful moment where Young's face showed nothing but understanding and contrition. Then her words registered.

"Camille?" he said dangerously. "She's trying to change him back?"

"She says we need him in order to get home. And live."

Well, that was true.

"He'll probably change back on his own," Young shrugged, trying to act unconcerned. "In a coupla days."

"Yeah," said TJ sarcastically. "Or in forty years."

Young scowled. He stabbed a finger in Nick's direction, staring him in the eye.

"Stay here," he ordered.

He stormed off to yell at Camille.


	6. Crushes

Nick was a handsome little devil in his new camouflage outfit, and he knew it. He was particularly aware of Chloe's crush on him, and refused to stop being coy when people explained to him he was insane.

"She likes me," he said smugly, crossing his little arms. Young put a hand over his face.

"Nick, she's twenty-four -"

"I know," Nick interrupted, still wearing a triumphant grin. "But she likes me. I always knew girls would like me when I got into clothes that fit - not that I like girls."

Young raised an eyebrow.

"Nick," he said, "do you have a crush on Chloe?"

Nick looked instantly offended. "No!" he cried. "She's gross!"

A smile quirked at Young's lips. "Right."

"All girls are gross," said Nick staunchly. His features softened for a moment and he conceded, "Except Lisa."

"Lisa?" Young asked. "Lisa Park?"

"Uh-huh."

"She's not gross?"

Looking at the floor, Nick shrugged. Young tried not to grin - Park would go ballistic at the news.

"Right," he said. "Well, it's getting pretty late, kiddo. You wanna head to bed?"

"No."

"Let's get you to bed."

* * *

There was something singularly awful about tucking Nick into bed in Rush's quarters. It wasn't like Rush's quarters were dangerous - no, they were just as secure as the rest of the ship, and significantly more so than many areas. It was just that … well, there weren't many reasons for Young to _stay_. Not good reasons.

"You'll be OK?" he checked again, hovering in the doorway. Nick nodded. "You don't need a nightlight, or - or a stuffed animal?"

Nick made a face at him, signifying utter disdain.

"I can tell you a story," Young offered. There was a pause; Nick considered the option.

"OK," he said eventually. "I never got a story at bed before."

Young tried not to look too pleased with himself as he pulled up a chair.

"Once upon a time," he said, casting his eyes around the room for inspiration, "there was a … lamp."

He hesitated.

"A … _magic_ lamp?" Nick prompted. Young nodded hurriedly.

"Yes, a magic lamp. In the Air Force. And his name was …"

…

…

"Rumpelstiltskin," Nick offered. Young gaped.

"Pumpkin-skin, yeah," he said. "And Pumpkin-skin wanted -"

"_Rumpelstiltskin_," Nick corrected.

"What?"

"It's Rumpelstiltskin. Not Pumpkin-skin."

"How do _you_ know?"

"I saw it in a play."

Young pursed his lips. "Well, this is Pumpkin-skin," he said. "Rumpelstiltskin's sister."

Nick looked at him strangely. "I thought it was a lamp," he pointed out. "Lamps don't have brothers and sisters."

"Well, magic lamps _do_. Now do you want the story or not?"

"I'm not sure anymore."

Young scowled at him. Nick stuck his tongue out.

"Are you tired yet?" the colonel barked. Nick shrugged. "Well, get tired. The magic lamp named Pumpkin-skin wanted to prove that he was -"

"_She_."

Young's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Pumpkin-skin's a _she_."

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, she is! You just said! She's Rumpelstiltskin's _sister_!"

With a stifled sigh, Young put his head in his hands.

"OK, _fine_," he bit out. "Pumpkin-skin wanted to prove that SHE was braver than all the men."

He trailed off, well aware that Nick was waiting for more. It had occurred to Young that most little boys didn't want to hear butchered tales about feminist lamps, especially when said feminist lamp was just a clumsy metaphor for Mulan.

"Pumpkin-skin had a dragon," Young started again. He paused, waiting for a response.

"That's OK," said Nick gently before he could go on. "I don't really _need _a bedtime story."

Young took a deep breath to steady himself. "Well, you're getting one," he hissed. Nick's eyes were wide.

"… OK."

"_OK_?"

"OK."

"Good. Pumpkin-skin's dragon was named … Greg. And Greg had a problem. He had hemorrhoids."

Nick gave him a blank look. Young realized he had a chance to thoroughly mess up Rush.

"Hemorrhoids are like zombies on your butt," he explained. "They eat through your skin and make you bleed, trying to get inside you."

Wide-eyed and pale, Nick brought the blankets closer to his chin. "Cool," he breathed.

Satisfied at finally saying something acceptable, Young went into a long tale detailing Pumpkin-skin's fight against his dragon's hemorrhoids, which were British at Nick's request. He was halfway through _Pumpkin-skin 2: Attack of the Paperwork Bats_ when he realized Nick had dropped off.

The boy was snuggled up against the pillow, holding it something like a teddy bear, and drooling. Young suspected that if HE were the pillow, he might not find that so cute.

It was really, really hard for him to dim the lights and sneak away.

* * *

Later in the night, in his own quarters, Young was awakened briefly by the sound of his door sliding open. He shifted sleepily, not looking up. He could hear the light tapping of feet against the deck plating, and then the bed dipped slightly as someone got in with him.

Before he fell asleep again, he felt the small figure of a six-year-old boy curling up against him. Nick's head nuzzled against his neck, getting more comfortable.

"Couldn't sleep?" Young mumbled. He felt Nick shake his head and snuggled closer.

Young closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	7. Kinos

Young found Nick at noon the next day, sitting with an exasperated, almost irritated Eli in the Kino Center.

"Just say a few lines," Eli urged. "Tell us your name. Your birthday. OK?"

"OK."

Looking relieved, Eli trained the Kino on Nick. Nick crossed his eyes and pulled the corners of his mouth down.

"Stop it!" Eli cried, slamming the Kino back into place. "This is serious!"

Nick had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry."

"Really? _Good_. Let's try again."

He put the Kino up again. "Go," he instructed.

"I'm Nicholas Rush," Nick said. He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out.

"COLONEL!" Eli yelled.

"I'm watching," Young said, checking his smile.

"_Discipline_ him! Discipline your child!"

"Nick," said Young lazily. He wasn't sure whether to feel smug or strangely guilty at the wary look that took over Nick's face. "Come with me."

Seeming stricken, Nick jumped off the chair Eli had pulled up for him and padded after Young, wringing his hands and looking for routes of escape. When they stopped outside Young's quarters, he just looked confused.

"Do you know how to play chess?" Young asked. Nick's mouth fell open in bewilderment.

"Play _what_?"

Smiling, Young opened the door and led him inside.

* * *

It took Nick twenty minutes to get a hold on the names and moves of each piece. They played for only ten minutes after that, and it wasn't really playing. It was Young explaining and demonstrating various defenses Nick could use. The boy was slowly becoming more and more agitated.

"This is boring," he declared finally, trying to stand and leave. Young snagged him by the arm and forced him to stay.

"If this is boring, what do you call learning the alphabet?" he demanded.

"Fun."

Young narrowed his eyes. Nick just shrugged.

"I like Lisa," he said deferentially.

"Do you, now."

"Yup."

"Well, do you like me?"

"Mr. Young," said Nick, exasperated, "I can't like you. You're a_ boy_."

There was a long pause while Young considered the best response to that - and by "best," he meant least likely to get him chewed out by TJ.

"You can like me _platonically_," he offered. Nick greeted him with a look of calculated horror that might have meant he interpreted that wrong. "Platonically means as friends," Young said quickly. "You can like me as a _friend_."

_Or a Papa_.

Nick nodded, but the way his eyebrows were drawn and how he edged away slightly made Young's heart sting.

"It's your move," Young muttered bitterly. Looking morose, Nick nudged one of his pawns forward. It was a strangely lackluster move for the boy who'd so far abused his knights and bishops with gusto. Young wondered exactly what he'd said wrong to make the kid react like this - or maybe it was his sour attitude.

He moved one of his own pawns in a position to be taken. Nick looked at it darkly, scowled, and knocked over his king.

"Hey," Young snapped, grabbing the kid's wrist. "Now, you know you didn't lose. Pick up the pieces. Don't be difficult."

Nick glared at the ground. Suddenly feeling useless and frustrated, Young pulled back.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, struggling to keep his voice at least a little pleasant. He ducked his head, trying to catch Nick's gaze. "_Nick_. Tell me."

"Nothing."

"Nick -"

Nick jumped to his feet and knocked the chess board over, sending carefully-crafted pieces scattering across the floor. Young watched in astonishment as the boy's features set in rage and he stomped out of the room, kicking the black king as he went.

Young heard a furious shout outside in the hallway. He stood, feeling unusually numb.

"Well," he muttered to himself. "What the hell was that?"

* * *

He found Nick sitting with Camille Wray. The boy's eyes were red and his knees were drawn up to his chest. Camille - well, Young had never been good at reading Camille. He wasn't sure _what_ she was doing.

"Hey," he said lowly, stepping into the room. Nick curled up tighter; Camille stood.

"Colonel Young," she said, sounding surprised and - oddly enough - relieved to see him. "Thank heaven. Can I … talk to you outside?"

Young blinked. He wanted very much to go _inside_, actually, and find out what was wrong, but before he could voice that thought, Camille had pulled him out and shut the door.

"Nick just told me some very interesting things," said Camille. Young stared at her, eyebrows furrowed. His thoughts veered sharply away from 'how Nick was doing' as he concentrated on Camille's words.

"Are you … accusing me of something?" he asked, truly baffled.

"No." Camille shook her head. "I'll tell you later, Colonel. But right now, I need you to go in there and assure him that you didn't mean it."

"Didn't mean _what_?"

"I'll tell you later."

It took everything he had not to roll his eyes and/or yell.

"_OK_," he said through gritted teeth. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Camille shrugged, her expression shuttered. "Apologize," she instructed. "Make sure he accepts and understands that you're not threatening him -"

"_Threatening _him? What the hell did I -"

"Just do it," Camille interrupted. Young stared her down for a minute; Camille gazed blankly back.

With a deep breath, Young pressed the door release and entered the room.

* * *

Nick's head was buried in his knees, and he didn't look up when Young entered, though his shoulders tensed a little.

"Nick," said Young awkwardly, shuffling into a squatting position by Nick's chair. "Um, I wanted to say that … I didn't _mean_ what I said earlier."

Camille was crazy. This would never work - it was too vague, too obvious he didn't know what he was talking about.

"Really?" Nick said hopefully, looking up at him. Young gaped.

"Yes," he managed finally. His mind raced to remember what Camille had told him. "I, er … apologize. For what I said. It … wasn't true. I, uh, didn't mean it that way."

He tried to stop all of the above sentences from turning into questions, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. Nick uncurled slowly, sighing with relief.

"OK," he breathed, nodding weakly. Young mimicked him, unable to believe his luck. "Good."

"I'm forgiven?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Young nodded again and raised his arms tentatively, gauging Nick's reaction. The boy didn't seem at all bothered.

With a quick backward glance to make sure they were alone, Young pulled him into a hug.

"Good," he said against Nick's hair. He pulled back a little. "You had me worried, kiddo. I didn't know what was wrong."

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine."

They sat there for a moment; Young shifted so he was sitting in the chair and Nick was in his lap, and for several long minutes, they just chatted.

"Wanna have another go at chess?" Young asked.

"Uh-huh."

"You got kind of angry the last time."

Nick didn't respond. In the silence, Young tried to keep his mind on the present and not on whatever 'interesting news' Camille had for him.

"You wanna go talk to Greer?" he asked, bouncing Nick a little before remembering how much he had hated that when he was a child. "Or the Science Team?"

"Will Lisa be there?"

Young fought back a stab of jealousy. "Yes," he said firmly. "And if she's not, I'm sure we can find her somewhere."

"Really?"

"Sure, kiddo. C'mon."

He stood and swung Nick onto his back, gratified to hear a bubbly little laugh. It felt like days since he'd heard the kid laugh - never again would he accidentally offend the little tyke.

He set off without seeing the Kino in the corner.

* * *

"D'aww," said Volker, looking over Eli's shoulder. He smiled around at the Apple Core. "Oh, come on. That was cute."

"You didn't see when he was talking to Camille," Eli replied, frowning hard. Volker looked between the math boy and Brody, both of whom were solemn.

"What?" he asked, smile slipping away. "That bad?"

They nodded.

"What'd he say?"

After only the briefest hesitation, Eli fiddled with the remote and pressed rewind. He found the right spot and played it, letting Volker get closer to the screen.

Slowly, Volker's face fell into something just as troubled as the others'.

"Well, put it away," he mumbled, turning his back on the Kino. "They're coming down here."

Eli squared the footage away.


	8. Information

"Now keep in mind, I can't tell you everything," Camille warned. "As an adult, I don't think Nicholas would appreciate too many people holding this … information."

Young nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. He was pretty sure he'd already failed.

"Go on," he told her.

Camille sucked in a deep, troubled breath and started. "He's a foster child. His real parents were … unfit. They left him on a bridge in Glasgow, on a stormy day – let the police pick him up."

She hesitated over her next words. "The reason he freaked out on you … the other day …. Well, you told him he could like you."

Young nodded, uncomprehending.

"And you're an adult," said Camille slowly. "An adult who's taken over as his … father."

There was a moment's pause, and then Young blanched.

"That can't be," he spluttered, pulling back a little, distancing himself from the conversation. "He loves his dad. He's always raving about him, how much he misses him."

"His foster father, yes," Camille affirmed. "But not his real one. His biological father is in prison now – that's why he was so reluctant to tell us his last name. It must be pretty common knowledge where he came from."

Young shook his head and looked at the floor, trying to pick between cold horror and absolute rage.

"We have to turn him back," said Camille gently. "All the problems we're having with him … we can't handle them, Colonel. We can't be the emotional support for a young child when we're also fighting to stay alive. More importantly, we can't be the emotional support for someone like Nick."

Her fingers hovered near his arm as she hesitated, trying to decide whether to touch him. Eventually, she pulled away.

Her eyes turned to the Kino remote on the table behind her; the Kino it connected to was trained on Nick, who was watching as Mr. Brody and a civilian welded something together.

"That's all," Camille murmured. "You can go."

* * *

Young found himself alone in the mess hall, trying to decide whether or not to drink the mug of Brody's beer he had before him. The implications of Camille's 'interesting news' were swirling around in his head, just repeating over and over without offering any solutions.

He ducked his head to take a sip just as he heard voices and footsteps coming nearer.

"Mr. Young!" Nick exclaimed, rushing in with Brody and Volker on his heels. "Look what Mr. Brody made me!"

He held up something that looked like a distorted, metallic sailboat.

"He made me a toy! And it's metal! And I cut myself on it, but TJ gave me a bandaid, so it's okay."

Young nodded slightly, staring down at his beer. Slowly, Nick's smile faded. He lowered the sailboat and stepped forward, the picture of confusion.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

And before Nick could move away, Young had him in a vice-like hug. They stayed there for a moment, pressed together. Young thoroughly ignored Brody and Volker's incredulous looks.

"Mr. Young ..?" said Nick finally, voice muffled against the colonel's stomach. "What are you doing?"

Young hugged him tighter.

…

…

"Mr. Young ….?"

* * *

The rest of the day was almost normal, all things considered. Nick was hyper enough to drive everyone insane, and wouldn't stop reciting the alphabet – except for when he decided to prattle on about how the ship worked instead.

He named his sailboat Rex and decided Young's paperwork would make a good ocean.

He later decided Rex would make a good tank missile and chucked it at Greer's head.

"That was very bad, Nick," TJ scolded as she checked Greer for a concussion and checked out the scrape on his temple. "We don't throw. Tell him, Colonel."

"No throwing," said Young dutifully. Nick couldn't seem to decide whether to pout or glare.

"_Greer_ throws things at _me_."

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

"That was, um, very bad, Greer," TJ said, not quite meeting the sergeant's eyes. "… No throwing."

"Aw, come on," Greer said in a mock whine. "Moooom!"

"No. Now, both of you have been very bad, but unfortunately … it's not in my power to punish Greer."

Greer pumped his fist and winked at Nick. "Sorry, little man."

"Park can punish him," Young shrugged. Greer gave a lascivious grin and stood, stretching a bit before turning to go.

"Who's punishing _me_?" asked Nick. Young didn't look down at him.

"I am. You're going straight to bed after you take a shower."

"Can Lisa punish me instead?"

Greer stumbled, hopped on one foot for a moment, and ducked outside to hide his giggles.

"What was_ that_?" Nick asked.

"He must've stubbed his toe. Come on."

He pulled Nick out of the infirmary and down the corridor, stoically pretending not to notice when a Kino started following them. He'd tried to convince Eli not to film Nick so much, but there was no stopping him. It was just such great blackmail material.

"Where are we going?" Nick asked, jumping around Young as they walked and trying to take the colonel's hand with him.

"Stop that. We're going to the showers."

"I don't wanna take a bath."

"Well, good. Because you're taking a shower."

Nick dug his heels into the deck plating and abruptly stopped moving. Young lurched for a moment and turned around. He gave Nick's arm a little tug.

The boy didn't budge.

"Don't be a baby," Young told him in exasperation, tugging a little harder. "You haven't taken a shower since you came here."

Nick scowled. "So?"

"So you smell awful and your hair's greasy and you look like a pig. Come on."

Nick only gave him a disdainful look. "My hair isn't greasy."

"Yes, it is. Come on."

"Nuh-uh. Hair only gets greasy after _years_."

With a long sigh, Young used his free hand to cover his face. "Nick," he said, "I think this explains a lot about you."

"Huh?"

"Come on."

He swooped down and grabbed Nick around the knees, lifting him to his shoulders. The boy struggled and wriggled like an eel to get free. Finally, he made it so his legs were wrapped around Young's neck – one hand fisted in the colonel's hair, the other covered his eyes.

"Damn it, Nick!" Young cried, holding his hands out in front of him. "Get off me!"

"No! Say I don't hafta take a bath!"

"You _don't_," Young growled, reaching up to grab Nick's shirt and yank him down. "You have to take a _shower_. Now stop being such a brat."

Hands pinned to his side, Nick just stuck out his tongue. Young tucked him under his arm and carried him like a football down the hallway. When they reached the shower compartments, Young shoved Nick inside, closed the door, and waited for the boy to take off his clothes.

Nick stuck his head out from the space underneath the door.

"It's too high up," he complained. "You can see my dick."

"I'm _not_ gonna be looking at your private parts. And don't say dick."

"What am I _supposed_ to say?"

Using his foot, Young pushed gently on Nick's head until he slid back inside. "Say 'private parts.' Or 'wiener.' Or actually, say nothing at all. Stop talking about your dick."

He heard the sounds of faint grumbling.

"Are you taking off your clothes?" he asked.

"No."

"What? What are you doing?"

"Looking for an escape hatch."

"Nick –" Young pinched the bridge of his nose. "There _are_ no escape hatches. Just take a shower."

Nick paused.

"I can't," he said, an odd note in his voice instantly setting off Young's internal lie detector. "The buttons on my clothes are too hard. I can't get 'em off."

With a measured voice, Young said, "Then come out here and let me do them."

"No!"

"Nick, I'll just un-do the buttons. Then you can go back into the shower and take them off yourself."

Very slowly, glaring heavily, Nick pushed open the stall door and let Young work the buttons.

"There," said Young, nudging him back to the shower. "Get in."

Grumbling again, Nick went back inside. His silhouette shifted as he struggled with the clothes and got them off, kicking them through the space at the bottom of the door.

"I'll give you my sailboat," he offered as his last-ditch attempt.

"You're taking the shower, Nick." Shaking his head, Young turned and smacked his hand against the button that released the beady mist that constituted their showers. There was a pause, and then the water hit Nick.

And he screamed and started to cry.

Vaguely, Young remembered something about small boys abandoned on bridges on stormy days.


	9. Balls

"_Colonel Young, sir_?"

Young looked up from his paperwork and over at the radio on his desk. He snuck a glance at Nick, who was curled up on the bed, taking a nap. The boy's trousers were pulled up around his calves from the position he was in, but they still looked a little too short – had he hit a growth spurt already?

"Lieutenant Scott," Young acknowledged, sliding his thumb over the radio button.

"_We've got a situation, sir_."

"What's going on?"

"_Colonel Telford, sir. He's come on board_."

For a moment, Young failed to see the problem – other than his blatant dislike for Telford. Then his eyes flickered once more to Nick's slumbering form, and things clicked into place.

They hadn't reported Nick's condition to SGC, of course. It was a secret to be kept amongst the crew until absolutely necessary. And now Telford was on board, and there was no doubt in the colonel's mind he would want to see Rush.

"I'll be right there, Lieutenant," he said into the radio.

"_Yes, sir_."

Young set his paperwork aside and shook Nick awake.

* * *

Young found himself sequestered in the Communications Room with Colonel Telford (in Airman Dunning's body) situated opposite him. The doors were open behind Telford's back so that the guards posted outside could signal Young if something happened.

He'd given Nick a thorough talking-to and sent him off to play with Becker. The boy was to keep absolutely silent – no shouting, no loud voices, no clanging around with Rex. If Becker told him to hide, he was to stay put and out of sight until Becker and only Becker told him to come out.

He was not to go after Young. He was not to play tag in the halls or look for Park. He was to _stay put_.

Somehow, Young wasn't altogether surprised when Nick disobeyed.

"The hydroponics lab is coming along well," he informed a clearly-disinterested Telford. "We've managed to grow several new species, all taken from alien planets, of – course –"

His voice faltered. Over Telford's shoulder, he could see Nick down the hall, hiding behind the legs of one of the soldiers supposed to be watching for him. Even as he watched, the little boy stuck his fingers in his mouth and pulled a face.

"What?" Telford snapped, whipping around. Nick ducked behind the soldier just in time, and Telford turned back to Young. "Is something wrong with you, Everett?"

"What?" said Young. Telford rolled his eyes.

"Nothing. You were saying …?"

"Right. Dr. Park, who's in charge of the hydro –"

A loud yelp interrupted them and both men looked out into the hall, where the soldier from before was flopping on the ground. Someone – a someone who was luckily not in sight – had tied his shoelaces together.

"Sorry!" the soldier called down to them, trying to surreptitiously re-tie his laces. "Tripped, sir!"

Telford shook his head in disgust.

"It's a fine crew you've got, Everett," he remarked sarcastically. Young just hmmed in response – he was rather pre-occupied with what Nick was doing with all those empty bottles from the infirmary. He saw Telford scrutinizing him again and snapped his eyes back to front, smiling thinly.

"As I was saying –"

CRASH.

It took all of Young's self-control to catch his frustrated yell – _NICK_! – before it left his throat. Telford whirled around and stared in bewilderment at all the broken glass.

"Now, listen!" he barked, turning back to Young. "I support you in this mission as much as anybody else, Everett, but your crew is out of control! Do you mind telling me what the _hell_ is going on?"

Young hesitated. His eyes moved over Telford's shoulder to where Nick was innocently kicking around a leather ball they'd put together on the last planet. How the hell had the kid managed to escape Becker in the first place?

"Um," he said.

The ball soared through the air and collided with the back of Telford's head, smacking the colonel's face right into the desk. He moaned and tried to look up but before Young could think about it, he curled his fingers in Telford's hair and forced his face back into the counter.

Nick stood in the hallway, looking like a deer in headlights. Telford swore and jerked under Young's hands, trying to get away. Young just tightened his grip.

"Don't move!" he told Telford frantically, casting his mind about for a convincing lie. "There's, uh – _Rush_! Rush is in the hallway!"

"So?"

"He's naked!"

With a small gasp of horror, Telford went still. Tentatively, Young removed his hands, checking to make sure the other colonel would stay put. Telford was apparently taking no chances.

"Well," said Young awkwardly, eyes flickering back to Nick. "I'll just … go get him, then."

"Why the _hell _is he _naked_?" Telford asked plaintively, keeping his nose to the table.

"Oh, you know Rush," Young shrugged. "Always stripping when he needs to _think_."

"_What_?"

Young edged away from the table and toward the doorway. "You don't remember that?" he asked, feigning incredulity. "He used to do that all the time at Icarus. We actually locked him up for it one night, since he gave the Senator such a scare."

"I do _not_ remember that," Telford growled. Young shrugged again and gave Nick a mighty glare – the kid gulped, turned tail, and ran.

"I'll be right back," Young promised. He took off after Nick.

* * *

**Three Hours Later**

"Hello?" said Telford, nose still squashed against the table. "Is it clear yet? Does Rush have clothes?"

…

"_Hello_?"


	10. Maturity

The next few days went fairly smoothly, with only two life-or-death situations and only one near-death scare involving a Stargate. Somehow, two of the aforementioned moments still had to do with Rush screwing things up – if he'd just stopped lying and told someone he stuck Rex in the engine to one of the shuttles, Young would have significantly less gray hairs.

And if he hadn't run through an open wormhole, there wouldn't have been any near-death scares at all.

It took everyone a moment to register that the little boy had just gone through. Then –

"OH MY GAAAAWW—"

"FUCKING HELL –"

"NIIIIIICK!"

Without waiting for Eli's Kino to go through, Chloe, Park, Greer, TJ, and Young all ran in after Nick. They tumbled out on a dusty planet rife with forests. Panting heavily, holding her First Aid kit, Nick Edition, TJ started on a search.

After splitting up, they found him.

He was pretending to be an airplane, spinning on top of a rock.

"NICK!" Young snapped, resisting the urge to stamp his foot. "You get down here RIGHT NOW!"

Duly scolded, Nick clambered off the boulder and went right to TJ, who gave him a quick and somewhat tearful examination.

"No boo-boos, sir," she informed Young, pulling Nick into a tight hug. She kissed him on the forehead before coming to her senses and pulling away, giving him a steely glare. "Nick, we _do not run_ through Stargates! You could've been seriously hurt, or _killed_! And then _we_ could have been killed coming after you!"

Nick looked stricken at the thought. Sighing, Young rubbed a hand over his face and looked at Greer and Chloe, who were a bit pale. Park was in tears.

"OK," he said heavily, "back to the ship. Let's organize a search team."

He grabbed onto Nick's hand and refused to let go.

* * *

It was hard to ground a kid from a perfectly safe planet, especially when all the kid got otherwise were empty halls and a complete lack of sunlight. But after a few hours planet-side, to Young's surprise, it was Nick who requested to go back onboard.

"How come?" Young asked him as they headed back to the Gate. Nick shrugged.

"I miss my friend."

Young cast his eyes about – Greer and Park were snuggling by the river, Chloe was talking to Matt, and Brody appeared to be napping. He couldn't think of any other friends Nick meant – he didn't play with anybody else.

When they stepped through the Stargate and Nick scampered off, Young figured he would just let the matter go. But then, as the day wore on, he found himself going in search of the little guy, unsettled.

He found Nick alone in a disused console room, murmuring under his breath to … no one.

There was no one in the room.

"Nick…?" said Young. "Who're you talking to?"

Nick jumped and turned, his eyes wide. Young saw the barely-perceptible twitch of Nick's fingers as the boy removed them from the console, pretending he'd been doing nothing. It was a long time before either of them spoke.

"Gloria," Nick answered finally. Young felt his eyebrows furrow.

"Imaginary friend?" he asked. Nick stared at him, face blank. His eyes flickered to the empty space beside him.

"Yeah."

Young nodded and grabbed the boy's hand, helping him down from the boxes he'd set up as a stool. It didn't escape his notice that Nick's sleeves no longer made it past his wrists.

They headed off to the mess hall.

* * *

Nick was hyper today – Young figured he'd have run it off on the planet, but he had no such luck. At first, it had been kind of cute, especially since other members of the crew were playing with him instead of Young. But now, when it was time for Nick to go to bed, things were a little more difficult.

"Nick," he said, trying and failing to grab the boy's arms and make him stop bouncing. "Could you _calm down_, please? It's time for bed."

"Not tired."

"Why not?" Young fell back on his haunches, exasperated. "You haven't had a nap today. You even spent four good hours running around outside – how can you not be tired?"

Nick shrugged. He jumped up and down on the bed again, expression thoughtful.

"Can I go back to the console room?" he asked. "Or the Apple Core?"

"No. It's bedtime."

"Please?"

"Why do you want to go?" Young made sure his tone made it clear he only wanted clarification; Nick was still going to bed, whether he liked it or not.

"I wanna work on the computers," said Nick.

Young stared at him.

"Bed," he said. "_Now_."

* * *

It was hours before Nick went to sleep, and even then, it was a fitful doze that kept Young awake, too. The boy woke up three times in the night and finally, at four a.m., decided it was time to get up. He tumbled out of bed and just walked around the quarters, examining things.

His trouser legs were a little shorter that morning, it seemed.

When Young finally resigned himself to fate and got out, too, he became convinced the little guy was sick. He wasn't speaking much; he seemed sullen all day, refusing to play more than half-heartedly with Greer and telling Park in a flat tone that he could read now, and didn't need her help.

Young could see the hurt in everyone's eyes – his only comfort was that despite how oddly he was acting, Nick still held his hand.

And that was fine, until Nick called Volker a useless asshole and threatened to put the astrophysicist through an airlock.

"He understands what I _am_, right?" Volker exclaimed indignantly while Young gave Nick a talking-to. "I'm an _astrophysicist_! He's a freaking mathematician - if anyone's useful on this ship, it's _me_!"

"Shut up, Volker."

* * *

...

..

.

"Nick?" said Colonel Young. "You seemed kind of sick today."

"Hn."

"Are you feeling OK?"

"Yeah."

"You want to talk about it?"

"… No."

It was twelve o'clock, much later than Nick normally went to sleep, but his bout of insomnia had carried over from the night before. For the past few hours, they'd been playing chess - Young was surprised when it ended in a draw. He hadn't known Nick was paying that much attention to their lessons.

The boy was just starting to look sleepy, and Young decided it was time to put his foot down. He scooped Nick up, intending to put the boy in bed. Instead, Nick's eyes widened and he let out a startled scream.

"Whoa, whoa!" Young cried, fighting to keep the boy still. Nick thrashed and shouted, face twisted in fear. "NICK!" Young roared. "Quiet down! What's wrong?"

Gulping, with tears streaking his face, Nick shied away, Young shifted closer, his voice low and soothing.

"Nick," he said again, more softly this time. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Nick hid his face behind a trembling arm and mumbled something Young could barely hear.

"I never beat you up!" he protested quietly, completely baffled. "Nick –"

Then, unbidden, a memory of leaving Dr. Rush – full-grown, manipulative Dr. Rush – to die on a planet rose in the colonel's mind. His mouth went dry.

"Nick," he tried again, "when I beat you up … was it in a desert?"

Words barely distinguishable from sobs, Nick said yes.

"It was just a dream," Young told him, feeling numb. He gathered Nick up in his arms, feeling the boy shake and cry against his shirt-front. "Just a dream, Nick. It's not real."

They fell asleep like that, Young cradling Nick until his tears subsided.

* * *

When he woke up, Nick was gone. In his place was a still-slumbering, stark naked Dr. Rush.


	11. Ermagersh, Nerkid Rersh

Rush's eyes opened slowly, his vision bleary from sleep. Hell, where was he? It felt like somewhere soft … a bed, perhaps? Mm, so comfy. But wait – Rush never slept! In fact, he avoided his bed like the plague. So where was he?

And why was he naked?

Confused, Rush tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but his muscles started trembling and he fell back on his face. Agh, everything ached! What the hell had he been doing last night? The last thing he remembered was sitting in the neural interface chair, but now ….

He felt like he'd run a bloody marathon! No, he felt like he'd spent a week in fucking bootcamp, or like –

Like he'd been –

Been –

Dr. Rush turned his head and found himself wrapped in Colonel Young's arms.

"Hi," said Young.

Oh, shit.

* * *

"We didn't have sex!" Young cried for the umpteenth time, his voice frantic and a bit exasperated. "For heaven's sake – Rush, would you_ please_ sit down and _listen_?"

"No," said Rush shortly, making sure the blanket he'd wrapped around him was secure. He turned for the door, tripped on a bit of stray cloth, and fell on his face.

"What are you planning to do?" Young asked him impatiently. "Walk out of my room in just a blanket? Is that something you want people to see?"

Rush growled against the floor and tried to stand. "Rapist," he accused. Young passed a hand over his face.

"Rush," he said, "for the hundredth time … I _didn't rape you_. You were turned into a child."

"Not bloody likely. My arse feels like someone ripped through it with a chainsaw."

Young grimaced. "Didn't need to know."

"Yes, well – if you can explain why my _limbs_ feel ready to drop off –"

"Growing pains."

Rush's voice stumbled to a halt and he turned to look at Young, completely incredulous.

"Growing pains," he repeated. Young nodded. "_Growing pains_? _Seriously_?"

"Well, you _did_ just grow from six to … I don't know, forty-something over-night."

Rush closed his eyes and banged his forehead against the floor. A little worriedly, Young picked up his radio and made a quick call.

"Eli?" he said. "I'd like to ask you a favor."

* * *

Rush sat in the Kino room with his blanket wrapped around him, face stony and blank. Young stood at the doorway, watching; he was biting his lip. Eli was between them, clicking through the documents in storage to find what he was looking for.

"Ah," he said, "here it is."

He pressed play. Rush watched for around two minutes as Greer and a younger version of himself went through a tickle fight. When the footage ran out, Eli and Young turned to him with expectant looks.

After a few seconds of staring at him, their hopeful expressions fell.

"All right," said Eli, turning back to the laptop. "Well, if you don't believe that …"

He stopped on another video, this one of Young and six-year-old Nicholas playing chess. Rush just scoffed, and Eli clicked on another clip.

They went through video after video, everyone scowling, until finally Eli found the right one.

"Volker!" six-year-old Rush cried. "You are a useless, overweight, FUCKING ASTROPHYSICIST! AND I AM IN _NO_ _MOOD_!"

Rush's blank face gave way to something almost sheepish.

"What did Volker do?" he asked them. Eli lit up.

"So you believe us?"

"Yes. What did he do?"

"He wanted to bond with you," Young answered. "He tried to tell you a story."

"Ah. Well … that _is_ rather useless, to be fair."

They didn't argue with him. Rush bit his lip, fidgeted a little, and looked down at his blanket.

"Could I get some clothes?" he asked.

* * *

FIN.


End file.
